


All That You Can't Leave Behind

by dramady, edonyx



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-08
Updated: 2010-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 23:38:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Adam's senior year at Burbank High is a bad one. But things seem to have a way of coming back around. Or at least Tommy Ratliff does.<br/><b>Authors' Notes</b>: AU, with a shifting of some dates and facts and the keeping of others. We hope you enjoy this fic because writing it was a true, true pleasure.</p><p>Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That You Can't Leave Behind

The messenger bag was a bad idea. Adam Lambert gets that. _Now!_ The first time it was called a man-purse was when he walked into the building.

It's going to be a very bad year and it's only just started.

~~

Adam sits back down next to Monte at the table they have set up for auditions, handing over a bottle of water. "Okay! So how many more?"

"Another six or so. Next up is a kid I heard about."

"Well," Adam says, "let's see him!"

When the bassist walks in with a guitar almost as big as he is, Adam doesn't think anything of it. When Monte says, "Tommy Joe Ratliff," to him, _that's_ when Adam looks up and he stares. Open-mouthed. "No. Way."

~~

Adam tries to slip into the math class and not be noticed. He can't help it that the desk squeaks on the floor when he sits down. It's a tight fit, okay? Just shut up, already.

There's a snort from the seat behind him, and then the vague sensation of a bit of balled-up paper hitting the back of Adam's head. "Need a bigger desk?" Not to say that Tommy's a skinny little thing, but at least he didn't make the desk squeak when he sat down. "Lend me a pencil."

"Leave me alone," Adam hisses. God. His whole _face_ feels so hot. He fishes his book out of his bag and a notebook, setting them on the desk.

"No seriously, lend me a pencil. I know you've got one. I've only got pens." Whose caps are mostly chewed to obliteration. Blame English class. God. Is there anything even seriously more heinous than writing? Oh yeah, writing _essays_, which Tommy already has waiting as homework in his backpack. Fuck that noise, okay? Fuck it. He taps the bottom of Adam's chair with his toes, trying to get his attention. "Come _on._"

Sighing, Adam tosses his smallest, grossest pencil over his shoulder, if only to get _fucking_ Tommy Ratliff to leave him alone. Then he can work on memorizing on his lines for the Burbank Players production of _Brigadoon_ while trying to look like he cares about Fundamentals of Advanced Math (yeah, FOAM. Tacky, right?).

The teacher introduces himself, and Tommy mutters under his breath about something like he'd heard their teacher's some kind of weird nudist, and then the tip of that nubbly little pencil gets nudged against Adam's shoulder. "Can I borrow your calculator?" He leans up to peek over Adam's shoulder to copy what he's doing, and sees... a script, instead. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Do you, like, do _anything_ on your own? Why are you still even talking to me?!"

"Mr. Lambert? Is there something about the class that is frustrating you _already_?"

"_Shit_." Fucking first day of the fucking bad year.

~~

At least at lunch, Adam can surround himself with his friends and it makes life at least seem manageable. And no one says anything about what he eats; they just talk about the first jazz choir concert of the year (Yeah, Adam will solo, of course) and how maybe if they're really lucky, Mr. Lawson will finally let them do Godspell. Adam smiles and feels _normal_.

It doesn't last, because he has to walk the hallways to his Government class and there's that group of guys that he _can't stand_. Ugh.

Tommy curls a smile at Adam, then turns and says something to his friends that makes them all laugh, and then Tommy's searching in his hoodie for a pack of smokes he pinched from his dad. He pushes past Adam with that same little smirk before wandering outside to the sidewalk. Man, some people just have it _bad._ It's not the way his parents brought him up, but it's easy to poke fun when the other guys are snickering about Adam. Yes, he knows Math-Kid's name, shut up.

"God, I _hate_ this place," Adam groans as he sits down at a table this time, not a desk. Thankfully Danielle is in the class with him so it's not a total loss. "I can't wait to graduate."

"You'll be done soon and free," she tells him with a smile as she pulls out a pen. "Only a year to go. This is supposed to be the time of our lives, remember. Look at that guy in the front row. Is he new? He's _cute_."

"Now you're just teasing me," he pouts. Because ugh. Potential New Boy _is_ cute. As if he would be interested in someone who has a complexion like a pizza and weighs 250. "Come over for dinner? I have rehearsal after, but we can hang out?"

"Yeah, sure," she answers before raising her hand at her name being called for attendance.

Just for a second, Adam wishes he was straight. He wishes a lot of things.

~~

Oh, great. Somehow where all the assholes hang out has moved. It's next to where Adam parked. Great. Just great. With a deep breath for courage, he fishes his keys out and he walks directly toward his car. Never straight. Gayly forward. It's _no big deal_.

Just because he can, Tommy whistles at Adam, a loud, wolfish call, and then calls to him, "Thanks for the pencil!" before pulling it out of his pocket. He walks over to Adam to hand it back, fingertips rough with fresh callous as their hands touch. "You good at math? 'cause I suck at it. You look like more of a theatre geek, though." He scratches the back of his neck before offering his cigarettes. "I could totally use some help, though." Behind him, his friends are catcalling, and Tommy pops a middle finger up at them. "Fuck them, they're idiots. You're Adam, huh?"

"Keep the pencil." If looks good kill, Adam would have offed this guy in a poof of white smoke. His soon-to-be-banished messenger bag is pulled tight to his body. "Even if I was good at math, I wouldn't help you." For a laundry list of reasons. He keeps walking. Tommy is short, but he's strong. Adam would just ... rather not.

"Okay then! Nice to meet you, theatre boy! Buh-bye!" Tommy pockets the pencil again and his hand reappears with a lighter in it. One more cigarette before he has to go and catch the bus home and eyeball his homework like it's the devil taunting him with Jenna Jameson. Except Jenna's hot and homework sucks.

~~

Sure enough, in Math class the next day, Tommy doesn't hand in his homework. Because he didn't do it. Because he doesn't _understand_ it, and it's pointless and stupid, and who in their right fucking mind needs to know bell curves and rise and run and _graphing_ in real life?

Adam gets another flick of paper to the back of his head, except this time it skims his ear and lands on his desk. And it's a note. _sorry for yesturday. I've still got your pencil._

What? Adam kind of _stares_ at the paper (_yesturday_).

Is Tommy actually apologizing? Assholes know how to apologize?

_Don't show weakness_. It's Adam's mantra, so he crumples the note back up and stuffs it in his backpack. He doesn't know who needs bell curves either; Adam certainly doesn't. He can feel the flush of heat on the back of his neck and wishes he didn't blush so freaking much. But when the bell goes, he turns quickly and glances back at Tommy and mumbles as he stands, "you can keep the pencil."

"Gee thanks, that's generous." Tommy rolls his eyes. He was trying to, like, not be a complete dick, and Adam's totally being the dick, now. Fine, if that's how it's going to be, then, whatever. He's going to hit the aud on lunch and catch a nap. Note to students: do not have band practice on a school night. Not that Tommy really cares. In the auditorium, he slides into one of the long wooden pews at the back and stuffs his backpack under his head, shutting his eyes against the dim theatre light.

That _was_ Adam trying to be nice. For the record. He could've totally blown Tommy off, okay? Whatever.

The solo for the jazz choir concert is not exactly what Adam would've chosen, but Mrs. Boyle thinks she knows best, so who is Adam to argue. He wants to sing Cher. Soon, he reminds himself of Danielle's words, he would be free and he could sing whatever he wanted. While being on Broadway. Of course.

While he waits for Jonny to get there to play piano for him, Adam walks out onto the stage and looks out at all of what he thinks are empty seats. And he starts to sing, imagining the whole place full, on their feet and _cheering_. For him.

_Spend all your time waiting  
For that second chance  
For a break that would make it okay  
There's always one reason  
To feel not good enough  
And it's hard at the end of the day  
I need some distraction  
Oh beautiful release  
Memory seeps from my veins  
Let me be empty  
And weightless and maybe  
I'll find some peace tonight_

What- what the _fuck?!_ Tommy jerks awake, whamming one of his elbows against the back of the pew when he sits up straight to see who's woken him up. It's Adam from math class, and Tommy _knew_ he was a theatre kid! He scratches a hand through his hair and watches Adam sing, back far enough that maybe Adam won't actually see him there, and be a dick. But when the song's over, Tommy claps, a smirk on his mouth, feet propped up on the back of the pew in front of him. "Bravo!"

"Oh, _shit_." Jolting forward in surprise, Adam blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "Go fuck yourself!" So fucking what if he was singing Sarah McLachlan. The song's amazing and whoever that is can just go fuck themselves. He doesn't even try to see who. "Let me guess. You'd rather listen to non-music like Metallica." Whoever it is? Is on Adam's turf now and he won't back down. This is _his_ stage.

"Metallica fuckin' rule!" Tommy retorts, not getting up. "You're the one who woke me up! I was here first, so don't fuckin' yell at me!" Tommy never said it was bad, or that it sucked, or any kind of shit like that. Just because he likes Metallica doesn't mean he's a total douche when it comes to other kinds of music, okay? "What's your fuckin' problem?" _Now_ he gets up, leaving his bag in the seat, and comes down the center aisle so that Adam can see him.

Oh, no. Seriously. What did Adam do to the world that it keeps fucking with him? Is this some kind of Karmic revenge for something he did in a previous life? Because Adam's _really_ getting tired of it. He puts his hands on his hips though and glares. "Just because you were sleeping here doesn't mean you own this place. I practically live here. You're an asshole who can't seem to be ... I don't know ... civil."

"I _tried_ being civil! I even fuckin' apologized!" That glare is pretty mean, but Tommy doesn't back down, arms crossed over his chest, feet apart. "I don't care if you _live_ here... is it because you're afraid of what people are gonna say about you? Fuck all of that, man. Who gives a shit what people think." Shaking his head a little, Tommy turns away from the stage to go and grab his bag and leave the auditorium. He'll go sleep in the bleachers in the gym.

"I do." But Adam says it quietly enough that he hopes Tommy can't hear him.

~~

So, Danielle had helped him with his math and the next time Mr. Bomer (yeah, that's a totally unfortunate name) collects homework, Adam actually has it ready to go. He can't help glancing over his shoulder, though, at Tommy, and asking, "did you do it?"

Tommy's got a headphone in one ear, his discman stuck inside the pocket of his hoodie, and he shakes his head _no._ He doesn't _get_ math, and that's why he'd asked Theatre Boy Adam for help in the first place. And fuck that noise about not being allowed to use calculators, because that is _gheigh_. Kind of like Tommy's suspecting Theatre Boy Adam is. "I don't know shit about any kind of fuckin' math. I should be in remedial or something."

"It's not that hard," says the one who had someone help him. "Math is just shitty. You could get a tutor. They have them at the library." Since, Adam's guessing, none of Tommy's friends are geniuses. Ha, he cracks himself up.

The look that Adam gets is cool and level, and then both headphones are stuck in, and Tommy dismisses Adam, just like that. _I asked you for help and you were a douche about it._ Mr. Bomer the Nudist catches Tommy listening to Slipknot, and there goes his discman, too, confiscated until the end of class. _Motherfucker._ "If it's not that hard, then _you_ help me," Tommy hisses at the back of Adam's head.

"I'm not that good at it. I have to have someone help me too," Adam admits. "Having me help you would be a really bad idea. But you don't want to fail and have to take it again." That? Would be fate worth than death. At least in Adam's opinion.

"There's always summer school." Tommy shrugs, eyes lifting to meet Adam's. Then he looks down at what he's scribbling in his binder, some kind of rough Metallica logo, and then scribbles it out entirely before starting on something else.

"Gentlemen, is there something you'd like to discuss with the rest of the class?" Mr. Bomer leans on the edge of his desk, arms crossed, an amused smile on his face.

"Nope. Just telling him that I have _no clue_ why any of this is going to be useful." It doesn't come out like Tommy's trying to be smart with the teacher, but sort of half-assed embarrassed that he doesn't understand. Once class resumes, Adam gets poked in the back of his arm with a folded-up piece of paper. _can your friend help me to?_

God, Danielle would have him _castrated_ if Adam even offered. Summer school, though? God, that would be ... worse than a fate worse than death. A fate worser. Come June, Adam has _no_ intention of _ever_ seeing this hell hole ever again. God. He takes the note and scrawls _I'll ask, okay?_ on it and slips it back and imagines the look on Danielle's face when he tells her.

~~

"You ... didn't."

Yep, that's the look. Adam winces and shrugs a little. "He kind of sounded really sad that he didn't get it. I ... kind of almost felt sorry for him."

"You felt _sorry_ for him?"

"It can happen, you know." Adam isn't _that_ pathetic; there are lower things on the totem of life at Burbank High. At least one or two things.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Danielle tells him. "Just ... it's not like I'm a math whiz or anything."

"But you are fantastic," he tells her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks."

"You so owe me."

~~

As he sits, Adam tosses the note on Tommy's desk. _Library. 3:00_.

Tommy draws a happyface on the back of Adam's neck with a Sharpie.

~~

At three, Tommy's sitting in the library with his textbooks spread carelessly across the table, legs stretched as long as he can make them (shut up, he knows he's short, but little people kill people, right?), hands laced behind his head. Where's Adam, anyway? The theatre-geek-math-help that he _knows_ his buddies are going to give him shit about. Who cares, right? If he can graduate and spend his summer playing guitar with the guys, then that fuckin' rules.

It's not Adam who comes. Adam, see, has choir practice until 3:30. It's Danielle who shows up and gives him the once over before she sits across from him. "You're Tommy?"

"Last I checked. Where's Adam? He said to meet him here at three." Which isn't exactly what the note said, but hey, selective memory, right? "You're gonna help me with this, right? Because I just don't. Get. It." She's cute, but she's not what Tommy was expecting. He thought he'd be hanging out with Adam.

"He's at choir rehearsal. I have no idea why he's being nice to you since just by looking at you, I can tell you're not nice to him, but okay. So, math." Danielle took his book without giving him a chance to answer, opened it and began to explain exactly how the quadratic equation mattered in the world.

To be completely honest, Tommy listens for about ten minutes before he tunes out, his attention wandering to the guitar riff in Tattered and Torn and how _fucked up_ it is, and how he might be able to play it if he got the distortion right. He's fuckin' nice to Adam, okay? Look at the smiley face on the back of his neck if Danielle thinks otherwise. He's been _trying_ to be nice to Adam, and Adam's the one that keeps being snotty. Urgh, fuck.

"You're not even listening. Why am I even bothering?! I can't stand guys like you, honestly. You think the world owes you something, and you're all about ... whatever it is. Just ... either pay attention or leave. Because this is a waste of my time." Danielle's pencil taps on the table impatiently.

"What?" Tommy answers, snapping back to attention. "No way, I was just- I just got this album, and I play guitar, right? And I was just trying to figure out the time signature and- sorry." He shakes his head. "What'd you say your name was?" She hadn't actually said at all, but Tommy's not quite _that_ rude. Especially when she's cute. "Is, um. Is Adam coming? Since he obviously picked you to deal with me." There's a little smirk there, but it's just a little bit charming, too.

It is just a little bit charming and that makes Danielle grumble more, something about making Adam _pay_. Of course it's then that Adam appears, backpack over one shoulder, eyes moving between Danielle and Tommy. "Um, hey."

"My name is Danielle," she tells Tommy and rolls her eyes at Adam.

"She sits down and doesn't even tell me her name!" Tommy exclaims at Adam. "You said to meet _you_ at the library, not someone I don't know! And someone who doesn't even tell me her name." Danielle is shown Tommy's tongue. "So, where were you?"

"I told you when to be at the library. I told you I don't know math well enough to help you. _That's_ what I told you." As much as Adam wants to roll his eyes at Tommy, he can't quite. The guy _confuses_ him more than anything else. He can be nice and he can be an asshole. Adam sits down and goes to pull out his math homework, too. "So, you guys are introduced? Okay." And he gives his best friend a rueful "please don't hate me" smile. "Quadratic equations?"

Danielle's returning gaze is withering, but she leans over the book and starts again.

Tommy's the master at hiding his nice behind a wall of asshole, and he watches what Adam's doing while Danielle talks, hoping that someone else who doesn't get it will _get it_, and then maybe Tommy'll understand, too. After a second, he pulls the note out of his pocket - yes, he kept it - and reads it again, and mutters something close to an apology to Adam. Then it's back to twiddling the gnarly old pencil that Adam gave him and trying to figure out what _language_ Danielle's speaking. "You wanna come over after? I got a PS2 and Metal Gear, if you wanna play."

"What?" For a moment, Adam is _sure_ \- so very sure - that he's misheard. He can feel himself blush from his neck and up, like lava rising or something and he hates that. "Um... I have rehearsal," he tells his book. Plus, he knows _nothing_ about video games. Why is Tommy inviting him anyway?! It's got to be some kind of a trick.

"Do you even _want_ to learn math?" Danielle asks, eyebrows arched.

"Do you even _want_ to be polite?" One of Tommy's eyebrows arches, and he goes back to talking to Adam. He's gotta take a break, okay? He's only got so many brain cells, and most of them have gone to sleep. Sneaking around as Snake Pliskin for a little while seems a _lot_ more appealing. "What kind of rehearsal? The kind of stuff you were singing in the aud?"

"No, it's Brigadoon," Adam flusters out and why does Tommy even care? "We ... open in a week." Has Tommy even _seen_ Brigadoon? Adam wonders this snidely. Which he knows isn't fair, since it seems like he's being nice, but it won't last. It never does.

"He's actually incredibly talented," Danielle adds, ignoring the jibe. Tommy would be cute if he weren't ... well, a dork who's trying to be tough and isn't, clearly. "If you want to see real talent, you should go to the show."

"Dan_ielle_," Adam hisses. _Not helping!_

"Does it cost to come?" Tommy's looking at Danielle with that cool, level gaze that Adam had gotten in class, the one that's defiant and just a little snotty in its own right. "Even better, are you doing it during school hours?" Adam gets a glance out of the corner of Tommy's eye. If Danielle's going to be like that to Tommy, then Tommy can dish it back, for sure. "I know how talented he is, by the way. He woke me up on lunch singing... what, Sarah McLachlan?" Take that, Adam Lambert. Tommy knew.

Oh, God. Where was that convenient hole that was supposed to open up and swallow Adam?! He concentrated on drawing figure eights on his notepage. "... yeah. But all the performances are at night, except Sunday matinees. There are student tickets." And Adam got some free passes, but those were for his family and friends. Tommy wouldn't actually _come_, would he?

"If we're done with math, I'm going to go, okay?" Leaning forward, Danielle kisses Adam's cheek. "I'll call you later, 'k?"

And now he's being _deserted!_ Crap! Adam nods numbly.

"I got band practice at night, but maybe the Sunday show or something," Tommy shrugs, raising a hand to Danielle when she leaves. Bye! Nice talking to you! Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave! Once she's gone, his attention turns back to Adam. "So, do you think the fuckin' world is about to stomp on your balls or something? Because I say something and you go all red, and you kinda look like I'm about to fistfuck your mouth. Which, ew."

"Oh, God, just don't, okay?" Adam slaps closed his book and starts to load his backpack. "I can't control when I blush and I'm half expecting you to turn around and be a total ass to me at any moment, because that's kind of your MO and you don't need to say such disgusting things, okay?!"

Tommy slouches in his seat, a scowl darkening his face. "See? That's what I mean, you know? You take offense to _everything_, and I thought if I said something like 'punch you in the fuckin' face', you'd take it way worse. Obviously not." He watches Adam stuff his books in his bag and crosses his arms over his chest. "See you tomorrow. I guess."

"Just." _UGH_, Adam hates high school with the heat of a thousand fires. "Fist fuck your mouth? That's somehow better than punch in the fucking face? Is that what you seriously thinking?! They're both violent. I don't even know what's going on, why you're suddenly being nice to me after three years of being a dick and if you're somehow wanting me to just roll over and say 'hey, new friend!', well, I'm sorry, okay?! You're confusing me and I don't know what's going _on_." And yes, his face is bright red and yes, he _might_ look like he's about to cry, dammit. He _hates_ his life.

"Wait, _what?_ We've been going to school together for _three years?_ Are you _kidding_ me? I didn't even know who you _were_ until the semester started, so take a fuckin' chill pill, okay? I'm sorry if I was a dick to you before. I'm a dick to everyone, and-" Oh Christ, is this guy gonna cry? Did Tommy make him feel that bad that he's gonna _cry?_ "Okay, breathe, seriously, you look like a thermometer that's gonna blow up at the end. Siddown. Okay? Just... sit."

Worst. Day. Ever. Are other people staring?! Knowing Adam's luck, they _are_. "I don't need to sit," he grits out, pulling himself together, at least for the moment. "If you're a dick to everyone, you might want to re-think what it is you're doing, Tommy. There's a thing called Karma. Check it out." And with that, Adam can make his exit and wait until he gets in his car to start screaming his lungs out in frustration.

~~

Sunday afternoon, Tommy's mom drops him off at the community theatre, and he's actually not dressed like a total skid. He buys his ticket and goes into the auditorium, feeling weird and out of place in a sea of parents and friends and people he doesn't know. To make sure that Adam sees him and sees that he's not this total asshole that Adam seems to _think_ he is, Tommy sits up near the front, feeling oddly nervous to see Adam perform.

What he sees is an Adam he's _not_ seen, one who's confident and sure, embodying the emotions of his character. He actually loves playing Tommy. His favorite line? "Why do people have to lose things to find out what they really mean?" And it has a happy ending of course. And Lisa, who plays Fiona, is nice and it's not terrible kissing her; he just imagines someone else.

It's not until the end in the curtain call that he _sees_ Tommy. And it throws him, sure, but this is _his_ place. And he's at home here and as he bows, he might even smirk a little at Tommy.

Is Adam looking at him? Can he actually see, with all those bright lights on the stage, and the darkened aud? If he can, then he could see Tommy smirk back, clapping, and then he pushes his hair back from his face before squeezing out of the pew and toward the back of the auditorium. He knows how the stage works and he'll meet Adam backstage. After a smoke. Which is exactly what he does right outside the auditorium's fire door before slipping back in to bump right into him. "Oh. Hey. You were..." This time Tommy's face colours, just a little bit, delicate pink across the bridge of his nose and the tips of his ears. "...it was a lot cooler than I thought it would be."

"It was, huh?" Still in his stage make-up and in the high of a job well-done, Adam refuses to let Tommy get to him. _Refuses_. "Brigadoon is a great show." He looks at Tommy a little more closely, "I'm surprised you came, really." Won't Tommy's friends give him eternal shit? But he doesn't ask that.

"Yeah." Tommy clears his throat and looks down at Adam's toes. This _is_ Adam's territory, and Tommy's stomping all over it. His friends don't know that he's here, okay? And maybe he won't tell them. Who gives a shit, right? "I don't know a lot of, um. Theatre stuff, you know? Mostly it's just me and my friends playing at parties and stuff." Here's something else that might surprise Adam: "You wanna go to, like, Burger King or something? Bet you're hungry after being on that stage for like, two hours."

Yep, that's surprise that paints itself right over Adam's face. He _is_ hungry; he never eats before a show, anyway, too, so as if on cue, his stomach growls. God, that's kind of embarrassing. He watches Tommy, though, seeing if there are any warning signs there. "Um, okay," he surprises himself by saying. "I... yeah, sure. Let me, um, clean some of this off my face." Since he'd just been planning on going home, anyway. "I can meet you there?" Assuming, you see, that Tommy drove himself.

"I was thinking that maybe we could, I don't know. Take the bus or something." Nope, Tommy didn't drive himself. He doesn't have a car, and besides, even if he did, he'd be the one chauffeuring his sister everywhere she wants to go. Let's have a big NO THANKS to that one, cool? "We can get Whoppers and onion rings or something? I can wait for you to clean the glue off your face, if you want."

"I drove. I can drive." God, a Whopper sounds fantastic. Adam turns back inside, giving Tommy one more look before he goes. "Ten minutes."

When he comes back out, he's got his backpack and his face is clean and Adam nods the way to his car, which isn't anything special, an old Civic, but it gets him where he needs to go. He turns off the music before it can blare them out and he starts the engine so they can take off. "I ... " he says, not looking over at Tommy, "can't believe you really came."

"I said I was gonna. I couldn't do the after-school shows 'cause I've been, uh. My mom got me a math tutor 'cause I suck." Tommy fastens his seatbelt around himself and leans back in the seat, letting Adam drive. "How long have you been a theatre geek?" And somehow, this time, it doesn't quite come out sounding like an insult. "I was in the band geek mafia until, like, last year."

"I've done theatre since I was eight," Adam tells him. "Do you mind Jack in the Box?" It's his favorite, after all. "They have great onion rings." This is all so _weird_. "You were in the band at school? What did you play?" Nothing wrong with a math tutor; Adam would be failing if it weren't for Danielle.

"If it's fast and greezy, I'm fine with it." Tommy looks out his window, and mutters something that might just sound like 'french horn', so shut up. He plays guitar now, and even though Aunt Gracie had given him a guitar for Christmas a few years ago, Tommy's mom had insisted that he get all of his music credits in school. "I wanna learn how to play bass, though, you know? Like Flea or, like, Les Claypool, you know?"

"... yeah." Though Adam doesn't have a clue who those people are. He pulls into the Jack in the Box and into a spot and shuts off the car, smiling just a little bit at Tommy. "You played French Horn?" Come on. How is that not funny? "Bass guitar is ... a lot cooler, I suppose." And with that, he climbs out and waits for Tommy so they can head inside.

"That's what I said." And would rather not have it repeated, honestly. "I play guitar now anyway, so I figure that bass shouldn't be that much different." He follows Adam into Jack's, and the smell of fast food hits him like, well, like a fist to the face, and now Adam can hear the snarl of Tommy's stomach. Jeez, seriously. "You play anything?" Adam looks a lot nicer when he smiles, not quite as nervous, as bitchy, as... frightened-gay. Maybe. Tommy hasn't figured out if he is or not, not that it really matters.

"I just sing," Adam says and that's all the conversation there is until they sit down. Adam's got the booth he sits in when he comes here and he's got the puddles of ketchup and mustard for dipping the fries and he's got his Coke and he's sitting across from Tommy Ratliff which isn't getting any less strange. Except that he's somehow less expecting to have the football yanked out as he tries to kick it. "What are you gonna do when you graduate?"

Come on, Adam, a _Peanuts_ reference? Tommy's not holding a football, and it's a really good thing. Those players would break him in _half._ He tries not to watch Adam with french fries and mustard, because that's _wrong_. "I wanna be a musician. I wanna be in a band. I'll probably end up at a fuckin' car wash or something, though. What about you?" He bites into his burger, dripping condiments out the other side of the bun onto the paper wrapper. Siiick.

"Broadway," Adam says in a way that says he's _sure_ it will happen, just that it's a matter of time. "I mean, my dad wants me to go to college, but I'm just like 'what can I learn in school I can't learn just _doing_ it', you know?" God the burger tastes like he imagines really good sex is like. Amazing.

The burger's not _that_ great, but it's pretty good anyway. At least Tommy's got the manners to swallow before talking again. "I think my parents have put their education stock into my sister. Not that they're not proud of me or whatever? I'm just... I don't feel like I'm that smart, sometimes." He dips one of his onion rings in Adam's ketchup and crunches on it. These are _bitching_ onion rings, honestly. _These_ are like sex. "Broadway, huh? Like, New York and stuff?"

"Get your own!" Adam knew how much ketchup he needed for the fries and stuff and ... it shouldn't be encroached on. But he's nodding, too. "Broadway's in New York, yep." He has daydreams of living there, walking to rehearsal, going out to bars late at night and dancing until dawn. It sounds ... _perfect_. Everything this life _isn't_.

"Sorry, _jeez._" Tommy gets up and gets his own damn ketchup, and slides back into his seat. "You gonna go right after high school? That'd be... maybe it'd be cool to get away, you know? From everything you've ever known, just to start over, I guess? I mostly just wanna get my own place. I'm saving for it. I work a couple of nights a week at Dig It Records. And I wanna get some tattoos and stuff." He snorts a sound that might just be a laugh. "How's that for a life plan, huh? Move out of my parents' house and get tattoos. Fuck."

Adam smiles down at his food, looking up at Tommy in snatches. "There's a lot to be said for starting over, I think. But whatever makes you happy, you know?" And for him? That's starting fresh, being someone _else_, someone more self-assured, more confident, who doesn't care what other people think. "Tattoos are cool."

"Yeah, I think so too." To starting over, to being happy, and to tattoos being fuckin' cool. "Look, I'm sorry for being a dick, okay? It's just... I don't even think about it. It just flies out." There's still burger to eat, and having his mouth full keeps Tommy from saying anything else stupid. He thinks he could like Adam, a whole lot. If Adam wants to like him back.

~~

By the time exam finals roll around, the weather is sticky-hot, and Tommy can't _wait_ for school to be done, so he can maybe try surfing this summer. Trying to study for his math exam is nothing short of completely miserable, so, hey, he calls Adam to see if he could use a break, too. "You wanna come over or something? I got central air. This math shit is _killing_ me."

It might not be a friendship so much as a _truce_. No more shit in the hallways or the parking lot and Adam finds that he kind of actually likes Tommy. It's one of the weirdest friendships if anyone knew, but really, no one even really knows about it, not even Danielle, who still thinks Tommy is a "wannabe stoner bully." Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but that's okay. Adam's kind of forgotten all about the math final in preparing to sing at graduation. Sing! At graduation! So that's what he's doing when the phone rings and his mom calls that it's for him and Tommy says that. "Um... "

Tommy's house. Adam looks down at himself, his big t-shirt, his shorts that he never wears where someone else can see him (even Neil gives him grief about them). And he surprises himself by saying "okay."

"Cool. Here's my address, you know how to get here? Or I can meet you at school and... whatever." He's also got about three grams of really, _really_ good weed, and the exam isn't until tomorrow afternoon. Tommy _likes_ Adam, he's found, and there's something weird that they've got in common: the need to do what they _want_ instead of what everyone thinks they should do. Plus, they both suck at math.

"No, I think I can get there. I'll see you in a little while." And Adam hangs up and scrambles to find something to wear, settling on a polo shirt and jeans even though it's a million degrees outside and it's only May. Of course, between the heat and vague nerves, he's sweating when he gets to Tommy's house which is _great_, ugh. He knocks on the door and looks around. Kind of normal house in a normal neighborhood. Huh.

There aren't any cars in the driveway, because his parents are at work, and his sister's at her friend's place studying for _her_ exams. Tommy opens the door in a wifebeater and long shorts, and tips his head for Adam to come in. "It's balls-hot outside, huh? You want a drink?" The hallway is long and straight, rooms branching off of it, with the livingroom at the end. Adam can even see into the back yard, green with privacy trees and a big shed that Tommy's dad keeps his crap in. "And, um. I never asked you before, but, uh. Do you get high?"

Wow. Adam's pretty sure he looks like a complete and total prude as he gawps. He's never known someone who actually _does_ that. " ... no? A soda ... would be nice ... " A Coke. Which is as hardcore as he's ever gotten.

Tommy laughs. "No way! We're totally going to, then. Because my brain is just about dead from those fucking equations. I'll be seriously shit-lucky if I pass this class at all." Tommy grabs Adam a Coke and tosses it lightly to him so it doesn't explode when Adam opens it. "Let's go outside, I got my pipe packed and ready, okay? My mom and dad won't be home for like, another three hours." And it looks like Adam needs to _relax._

And _whoo_ does it work. At first, Adam think he's too nervous to do really anything. It's _pot_, which is illegal. And after a few coughing jags, he gets the hang of it and within a half hour, he's sitting in the shade of Tommy's back yard and he's slouched in a lawn chair low enough that his head can rest against the back and he stares up at the big tree and says, for about the tenth time, "wow." Pot is _amazing_.

Adam's "wow" is answered with a wide grin from Tommy. He's lying on the grass beside Adam's lawn chair, and he just about chugs his own Coke, rolling over on his stomach so he can belch. "Good shit, huh?" He pokes Adam's leg to get his attention. "So... I totally want to ask you something, and I don't want you to freak out, okay? 'cause I'm just curious, and I'm not gonna freak out or anything. Are you into guys?"

"I am into _guys_." And it totally slip out and it takes a whole, like, thirty seconds for Adam to realize what he's _said_.

He hasn't admitted that to _anyone. Ever_, even though he's pretty sure some of his friends _know_. Oh, _GOD_.

When he sits up straight, the chair squeals and that just makes everything worse; why aren't Adam's _limbs_ working. "I mean - "

Tommy's reaction? He starts to _laugh,_ and gets himself up so he's sitting cross-legged, and his hand smacks down on Adam's leg as if trying to reassure Adam. "I _knew_ it! Oh my god, it's totally no biggie, really, you know? Man, you should come and sit on the grass, it's super fresh and pointy and it feels _really_ good. It's too bad that like, we can't smoke this grass, you know? When did you figure out you didn't like boobs?"

_Horror_. Abject and complete _horror_. The pot is clouding his thought process, but really, Adam is quite sure that _any minute now_ a bunch of Tommy's fag-bashing friends are going to burst through the privacy fence and beat Adam to a pulp. In his over-active mind, he can _see_ this happening and he screeches a little more loudly than the chair did. " ... what?"

Both of Tommy's hands come up, like Adam's pointing a gun at him or some shit like that. Ridiculous. "Seriously. Sit on the grass with me. You look like you're about to climb into that chair and fuckin' fold it up after you. It's _fine_ okay? I thought you were before, you know? And if it bugged me, don't you think I would have been a dick about it?" Because being a dick is what Tommy does best, right? Right. "I'm gonna get some popsicles or something. Just... breathe. I don't _care._" In fact, Tommy may or may not be a little curious about it, what it's like to feel like that. Blame the pot.

Oh, Adam will blame the pot. He will blame the pot for a _lot_ of things. And Tommy's words _do_ actually sink in because Tommy's right; he is a dick about things and he's not really being a dick. Which, Adam's toked-up mind tells him could be an elaborate trick, but he doesn't actually think it is.

The chair refuses to let go for a minute, then Adam kind of ends up sliding to his knees, then plopping back to his butt and he sits there, still looking dazed.

It takes Tommy a minute to get up and go into the house, but he does come back out with two wrapped-up creamsicle things, and he tosses the pink one at Adam. "Raspberry," he informs solemnly, before starting to laugh. "I got lime. Unless you wanna switch?" He sits down opposite Adam, then leans back on an elbow to look up at the sky as he pulls the wrapper off and sucks on the popsicle. It's fucking _good_, okay? Tart and it does _sexy_ things to his pasties. "You ever been with another guy? Or is it just, like, something you think about?"

"Oh My GOD!" Adam wails, face in his free hand. "Please, can you not ask me about this? And you - if you tell _anyone_, I will ... I will seriously just - " What, he doesn't even know. He loves raspberry creamsicles, but this is just Nightmare material and Tommy needs to let it _go_.

"I _promise_," Tommy, well, promises. "Not a word to anyone. Besides, the only shit we have left to do is exams and grad, so who the fuck am I gonna tell, anyway? Is the popsicle not the most _awesome_ thing in the universe? Seriously." He flops onto his back and sucks on his popsicle again, his other arm over his eyes. "I'm just _curious_, you know? Like... I don't know. You can't tell _anyone_, either. I'm... I don't know. Kinda... _curious._" Hopefully he doesn't have to spell it out to Adam.

Huh? When the words pierce his paranoia, Adam gawps at Tommy. Really? The guy who looks like a skater dude might be ... bi? Wow. Adam needs that popsicle now. He rips off the paper and takes a bite, letting the cold cover his tongue. "Really?" He asks when he swallows. "I won't tell anyone," is added hastily.

"So, good deal. You got something about me and I got something about you." Tommy stretches, the popsicle between his lips, and sighs back onto the grass. "What's it like being with a guy?" There's no teasing in Tommy's voice, no malice, just curiousity. Just like he'd said. "I mean, I thought about it, kinda, or something. You know? I just... Jesus, I'm high."

"... yeah. Me too." At least Adam thinks he's high. He's having trouble thinking clearly, still, and can't seem to not stare at Tommy's mouth. Until he forces himself to stop that is. "... I, uh, don't know what it's like." And there's that blush, yep, burning the back of his neck and his face.

"You're gay and you've never even kissed anyone?" Tommy snorts a laugh, biting off the end of his popsicle to let it melt in his mouth. When he swallows, he licks his lips and sits up again, looking at Adam with heavy, dark eyes. "It's just like... kissing, you know? You put your mouth on someone else's, and that's how you do it." Great, there goes any experience Tommy could have asked about. Adam's in the same position that Tommy is. "You want sunblock or something? You kinda look like you're toasting a little."

"You asked if I've been with a guy and I said no. I've _kissed_ someone. I'm not a total loser," Adam retorts. Truth told, the girl more had kissed _him_, but he hadn't really complained; he'd learned a _lot_. That he hadn't been able to use since. Ugh. "I don't need sunblock." Or pity, he thinks, licking at his melting creamsicle.

"Tell me, is that creamsicle totally the _shit?_" A hand comes down on Adam's shoulder, and even as stoned as Tommy is, he tries to look very serious. "It's totally okay what you are, you know. You don't need to freak out 'cause someone knows that... I don't know. Kinda like what you know about me." For a second, Tommy hesitates, then leans in to touch his mouth against Adam's.

Okay, that was about the last thing Adam expected. Sure, the Apocalypse would be less expected, but you get the point. And for a moment, Adam doesn't even move. He blinks and it doesn't even occur to him to kiss _back_, until it occurs to him to do just that. His heart is beating super-hard and he screws his eyes shut and he kisses back.

It's _so weird_, and for a second, Tommy's not exactly sure what to do next. Sure, he's kissed girls, but this is kind of different (okay, _totally_ different), and for a second, Tommy realizes that he's Adam's first boy-kiss, as much as Adam is his. His other hand comes up to rest on Adam's other shoulder, and should there be tongue? Is it that kind of kiss? It could be, and Tommy's lips part to touch his tongue against the seam of Adam's mouth. Maybe, after grad, they'll never see each other again, but at this second, it doesn't matter, when his heart's pounding and his pulse is racing, and his skin feels hotter than the weather around them.

A shudder runs right down Adam's spine when his tongue touches Tommy's. He makes a helpless sound, his hands landing on Tommy's knees and that's when he pulls back and stares dumbly at Tommy. "Um." And he pulls his hands away too. "Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know." There's something on Tommy's face, something like fear and disbelief that _he_ was the one who did it, not Adam. Adam's gay, they've already established this, but Tommy isn't. He's only ever been curious, and... that kiss. Adam had said wow when they'd first smoked up. Now it's Tommy's turn. "Wow. I'm- I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm real sorry."

"You are?" Something kind of crumbles apart in Adam's chest.

Of course. His first kiss and the guy looks like he swallowed a poisoned dart and _apologizes_. Of course.

Seriously, this is the worst year ever. Thank God, they all graduate in, like, ten days and Adam can put this all behind him. "I'm going to go." Thankfully, he can get up without looking like a fool and he can brush the grass off his ass and in essence, run away and not look back.

~~

The next time he sees Tommy is at the math final and Adam pretends not to see him, which is totally stupid, but he doesn't know what else to do. He sits down and just tries to concentrate on the exam.

Tommy doesn't even look at Adam, because to look at him means his face burns and he can't concentrate. He tries to focus on his exam, but none of the numbers make sense. He leaves half the questions unanswered and plops the exam on the teacher's desk, and glances at Adam before leaving class. Adam _left_ and it was Tommy's fault, and now any sort of weird friendship they'd formed has gone totally down the shitter. Because Tommy kissed Adam.

When Tommy had gotten up, Adam had watched him walk up and toward the door, but when he looks over, Adam looks down, back at the exam and he feels himself blush again. He _misses_ Tommy, which is the stupidest thing _ever_.

~~

Singing at graduation is pretty cool, Adam would admit, but he's just so ready for this year to be over that he gets his diploma (or the empty rolled up piece of paper anyway) and he goes to lunch with his family and sits there and waits for that feeling of relief to come. It doesn't come. It figures.

Tommy's not even at grad. There's no point in dressing up when he failed his math exam and pulled his average _way_ down. And it's not like he wants go to and hang out in the same place as Adam, anyway, because it's already fubar, right? His name is called and he's not there, and he's not at the graduation dinner, either. Not when his stomach balls up into a knot if he even _thinks_ about Adam, and how his mouth felt when they were both tingly and high and baking under the late-spring sun.

~~

"Just ... no fucking way." Adam rises from where he's been sitting next to Monte in the rehearsal/audition space and he _stares_.

"... Tommy?" Because, the Tommy Ratliff he remembers was bigger, broader, looking more like a dude and this Tommy? Fuck. Let's just say that this Tommy is hitting every kink that Adam has and the whole world knows about. "Tommy Ratliff."

"Hi, Adam." Tommy quirks a little smile, surprised that Adam even remembers him. At first, Tommy had even been confused... was it _that_ Adam Lambert, the one he'd gone to high school with? Ginger and shy and so uncomfortable with himself? "So, I learned how to play bass." Just like he'd told Adam he would. "And I thought I'd audition for your band, 'cause you need some good musicians to back that voice up."

All Adam can do is _laugh_. Because it's ... it's just so _insane_. "What did you do to yourself?" He asks, and it's not asked cruelly. He doesn't even give Tommy a chance to answer before Adam's turning to Monte and asking, "can we take a break? Like an hour? I... we - Tommy and I - we go way back."

Monte shrugs, "sure."

Adam squeezes his shoulder and comes around the table and walks up to Tommy and stands there, seventy pounds lighter with jet black hair and there is _no_ sign of the fat, insecure high schooler anywhere in his body, even as he takes Tommy in from head to toe, looking for a sign of the high school _asshole_ who gave him his first boy's kiss. "Can I buy you lunch?"

"Nope. But we can totally go grab something together. It's not like it's a date or anything." Tommy's grin is pixied and bright, and he unshoulders his bass. "Where should I stick it so it's safe?" He leans it against the table, and then he wraps his arms around Adam's waist. "Good to see you, you know? You look _fantastic._ Definitely better than the blonde, that's for sure. And you're all famous and shit! Where do you want to go?" Tommy's first boy-kiss, and when he'd figured out that it was _that_ Adam Lambert, Tommy hadn't been able to resist auditioning for his band.

It's ridiculously easy to hug Tommy back. Like hugging Brad, or Kris even, tiny and snugged into his body before Adam lets him go. "I guess I am famous and shit. And if you join my band, you might be famous too. Come on. There's a place around the corner, a little deli." He puts his hand in the small of Tommy's back so they can walk out of the room and the building, just around the corner. "And you?" He asks, smiling a little, unable to resist. "Did you move out? Get tattoos?"

Yes, Tommy, he _remembers_ it all. Even if it's been nearly ten years.

With a grin, Tommy pushes his sleeves up to show Adam his tattoos. "Well, duh, you think I still live with my parents? I don't think so, I'm almost thirty!" There's something really nice about how Adam's touching him, and the rest of Adam's words sink in. "_If_ I join your band? Are you offering? You didn't even hear me play, by the way." He holds the door for Adam, letting him go first. "What about you? Broadway? New York?" No, Tommy hasn't forgotten, either.

"I said if. You haven't auditioned yet," Adam replies with a grin. "I'm not that easy." Leading the way onto the street, Adam slips big wrap around shades onto his nose. "_Didn't_ quite make it to Broadway." And it's clear he doesn't mind. "Were you there?" He asks abruptly. "When I came back for Idol? At the football field?" He'd wondered. "Home Week." So strange.

"I'm not easy either." Tommy lands a light punch to Adam's ribs. "For the record. And Monte's got my resume of who I've played with and stuff. Man, I've been here before! They've got great smoked meat sandwiches here. With _wicked_ pickles." The way Tommy's face colours, exactly the same way it had in high school, across his nose and up the tips of his ears, tells Adam that Tommy _was_ there. But what he says is, "It was weird seeing you on a football field, no lie."

"I know, right? It was so _bizarre_ to be back there." They take a booth far in the back and Adam takes off his sunglasses as he sits, elbows on the table; he doesn't hide how he just _looks_ at Tommy. "I cannot get _over_ how different you look. I just _can't_."

"Because you look _exactly_ the same!" Tommy kicks Adam under the table. He can't help but think how _pretty_ Adam is, how different his eyes look now that his hair is dark. "Like, come on, you're half the size you were, you've got, uh, ah-" What word does he use? Hell, let's go with the first one that came to Tommy's mind: "-_amazing_ black hair, and you look _super_ good." When the waitress comes over, he orders a Dr. Pepper, wanting to say something about not being at grad, and why. "When I heard you were on American Idol, I totally watched it."

"Oh, shut up, you did not." But Adam's words lack heat and his smile makes up for them in warmth as he orders a Diet Coke. "You look pretty amazing yourself, there." Whoops, he's flirting. Rein it in, Adam. "God. My first kiss. How awkward was that? God, I was so high and couldn't even believe it was happening. I kept waiting for you to, like, ... do something terrible to me. Which was unfair. I'm sorry for that."

"I wasn't gonna do anything horrible to you. I just... didn't know what I was doing." He ducks his head, his voice turning low and conspiratorial. "You still get high? 'cause we totally can after the auditions, if you've got the time." Tommy runs his fingers through his hair, at once fluffing it up and tucking it behind his ear. "It was my first kiss too, don't forget. I was just... I wanted to feel what it was like. I _did_ like you. I know that all those guys made fun of you and stuff, but I thought you were pretty okay." Their drinks are delivered, and they can talk again, after Tommy takes a long drink of his soda. "So, um. Even if you think I'm shit on the bass, I'd like to... hang out with you again, you know?"

"I would really like that," Adam tells him, unable to keep the smile from his face. "Pretty okay, huh? I was a mess," he admits. "A miserable closet case who had to leave the country before he got his act together." He looks up when the waitress returns, ordering a Cobb salad with dressing on the side.

When Tommy orders, Adam shifts in his chair and asks, with ironic formality, "So tell me, Tommy Joe Ratliff. Why would you like to play in my band?"

Adam's formality is met by one of Tommy's full-on grins. "_You're_ the dick now, jeez. Look at you." But he thinks about it anyway, rubbing his thumb below his eye. "I think I'd be a good addition to your band 'cause I'm pretty good on bass, and with the type of music it looks like you wanna make, you're gonna need a solid rhythm section. I've got the experience with other bands, and you _know_ me. So it's not like- _What?_ What do you mean, you left the country? Where'd you go?" So much for trying to sell himself to Adam, right? And not like _that_, so don't look at Tommy that way! Though... "And I think that rock n' roll's a prostitute that needs to be tarted up again."

Adam's smile, when it blooms across his face, is huge and bright.

~~

It's nearly midnight and they are sitting crosslegged facing each other in the middle of Adam's living room on the floor and Adam is giggling uncontrollably as he passes back the roach. "... I had no fucking idea what they were saying, okay? German is ... it's all hard syllables, right? So I just nodded! 'Ja! Ja!' And I had no idea of what I was agreeing to until the woman, who was, I have to say, bigger than I was, reached for my crotch and I was like 'HO, NO! Nien, nien!' How was I to know they had happy ending massages in Germany?!?"

Tommy topples backward, laughing like an _idiot_, and he drags on the joint heavily enough that he hacks the smoke out. Christ, this is _really_ good. "She tried to grab your dick. Are you _kidding_ me! Was her name Helga? Or Olga? Or Ilsa? Did she have _hairy legs?_" Still laughing, Tommy hands the roach back, trying to pull himself back to sitting, and he's patting Adam's arm like he's trying to comfort him. "But at the very least, did she give a good massage?"

"It was the most painful massage I'd ever had! I think I thought I was agreeing to it being _over!_ I have _no_ idea if her legs were hairy or not, because I wasn't looking!" Still laughing, Adam inhales as deeply as he can, watching Tommy with smiling eyes. "I can blame my current pot use on you too, you know. You corrupted me." He blows out the smoke through his grin.

"What the fuck _ever,_ theatre boy. You totally could have been like 'no wai, I end up kissing cute musicians when I'm hiiiigh' and then never smoked again, for the record. I had _nothing_ to do with you smoking pot now. Can I totally have a beer? Do you even drink beer? Or are you like, a white zinfandel sort of dude?" Tommy blinks his eyes, trying to clear them, and pushes his bangs back. "I have pasties like a motherfucker, I shit you not." Plus, being stoned with Adam again makes him think of being in his parents' backyard, and how Adam's mouth had tasted like raspberries and vanilla ice cream.

"I probably have some beer, but you insulted me twice, for the record, beer and white zin?" Adam nose wrinkles, even as he laughs. "C'mon. Let's go see what the assistant bought." He gets to his feet in a surprising show of grace and holds out his hand for Tommy, to tug him to his feet as well. Fingers laced together, he can pull Tommy into his big, shiny kitchen and the fridge. "Oooh, I might have _ice cream_."

"I will love you until my dying breath if it's something with either cookie dough or pralines in it. Seriously. You know what's _wicked_ when you're high? Corn Pops. Honestly." He's holding Adam's hand. No wait, Adam is holding _Tommy's_ hand, and Tommy hasn't let go yet. "You're so... comfortable." His fingers twitch in Adam's, maybe a squeeze, maybe not. Maybe Tommy doesn't know. He lands against the fridge purely by accident, blocking both of them from potential frozen dairy goodness. "You like being famous? What's the best part?"

"It's got its ups and downs," Adam tells him and he's tugging Tommy out of the way. There is frozen dairy goodness to be had, move that skinny ass! "Like ... I like getting to do all of this, get a band, make videos, all of that, but I ... I don't like being followed by the paparazzi and having people say ... the most _amazing_ things to me because they think they know me. You know?" With the tug, Tommy ends up under Adam's arm, like Kris used to, like Brad. And he opens the freezer and peers in. "Well, shit," Adam says. "I guess you won't love me forever." He only has Mint Chip. Which is his! He clasps it to his chest.

Aw, Tommy can deal. It's better than no ice cream at all, that's for fucking sure! "I say just grab two fuckin' spoons and adjourn to the livingroom again." Tommy's tucked under Adam's arm, and Tommy's own arm ends up hooked loosely around Adam's waist. "I still can't get over how fuckin' fantastic you look. Rolling Stone? Insanity. Details? Woof. Somehow you turned into the gay sex symbol of the universe. That's why people think they can say whatever they want to you, 'cause they think because you're gay and you're a guy and you're _open_ about it, that it's okay." His other hand comes up to touch Adam's hair.

"Are you hitting on me, Tommy?" Adam asks, grinning as he drags him over to get spoons from the drawer and get them headed back to the living room where they can collapse on the sofa. "Careful. You're just my type. And I _am_ single. Are you still bi-curious? Or did you make up your mind?"

"Oh _no!_" Tommy slithers onto the couch, feet up on Adam's lap, talking with waves of his spoon. "I may be hitting on you, I'm not sure. I'm hiiiigh and ready, man. Honestly. I don't know what you're gonna do though, 'cause I'm older than you, and you like them young and small. I don't think I grew since high school though, and that's _weak._ Pass that ice cream this way before I die." He takes a couple of spoonfuls, and thinks about Adam being single, and Tommy being curious. "I'm still... curious. Technically. It isn't something I ever tried, you know? I still wanna, though."

"I've tried." And Adam bursts out laughing. The world knows how he's tried. And succeeded, huh? He takes the spoon from Tommy and he digs it into the ice cream and offers the spoon to Tommy. "This is like ... Romy's High School Reunion or something. Except we're both way hotter now than we were in high school. Insane."

"Well no _shit_ you tried! Those pictures from Burning Man? Do you really kiss like that?" Tommy leans up to take the ice cream from the spoon, watching Adam's face as he does it. What, Adam wants to feed him? Tommy can make it look good. Maybe he can go from curious to experienced. Maybe, with age, they've both mellowed out, both matured, and then, without thought, Tommy's moving until he's sitting across Adam's lap. "I never meant to be a dick," he says, all sincere. "I'm still the same. I just have different hair. And I'm skinny. You look..." Tommy's eyes blink closed for a second, lashes long and ashy on his skin. "...so different. Really, really good."

"I don't think you're the same," Adam tells him, tracing the tip of the spoon along Tommy's lower lip before pushing it into Tommy's mouth. Mmm, food porn. His free arm is hooked around Tommy's waist and he watches, eyes a dark blue. "I think you're ... a lot different."

Tommy licks the ice cream from the spoon, hands resting on Adam's shoulders, and he can't seem to look away from those eyes, so much bluer now that there's such a sharp contrast between them and Adam's hair. "How different am I? I mean..." He ducks his head as if getting ready to kiss Adam, but the swish of breath is minty and sweet, instead. No touching. "I learned how to be nice. I changed my hair. I had a coupla piercings, and they're gone now... I'm not that different."

Tommy has learned how to be a tease. Adam bites down on his lower lip as he watches, then leans back just enough to eat some ice cream himself, but he doesn't take his eyes away from Tommy's eyes. "You're ... there's something different about you. You were ... hard. I don't know ... brittle. That's gone now, I think."

Adam's eyes are dark blue; Tommy's, when he's high, are nearly black, and he blinks like he's moving in slow motion. "I was trying to be something I kinda wasn't. You know? I wanted to be tough and cool and whatever. I can just be me and it's fine. Can I have some more, since you totally pinched my spoon?" He feels warm and heavy, and for a minute, he's afraid of squishing Adam by being on his lap like this. Wait, how did he even get here? Oh yeah, ice cream. Easier to eat this way. Something like that. "And you were so scared, and now you're not. That's what I see, most."

"I think it was you who even told me, when you were being an ass," Adam teases, handing over the spoon. "To not worry what other people thought. You were right, you know. I just ... realized it a lot later." He shrugs and lets himself feel _good_. Somehow, even, his fingers end up under Tommy's shirt. How did _that_ happen? Whoops!

It's totally okay, right? Because they've known each other for like, eleven years or something like that, even if they haven't seen or talked to each other for most of it. It's like a reunion, except now they're _really_ friends, easy and super comfortable instead of jittering off of each others' nerves. "Your hand's warm," Tommy murmurs, skimming his spoon over the ice cream to give Adam a taste, this time. "I thought that was who I was then. Only worry about what the people you care about think. Otherwise you're too sensitive or you're too untouchable. And it sucks, both ways." Again, Tommy dips in, pulls back, brows quirking together. "Sorry. I mean. I just keep thinking that it'd... that it'd feel good if I- if I did that." If Tommy kissed Adam. But maybe Adam doesn't want that. It could just be that they're high.

"If you did what again?" Adam asks, distracted, watching Tommy's mouth, that full lower lip. "Shouted at me from the back of the auditorium after I sing Sarah McLachlan?" But he's smiling. His warm hand slides up, bracketing Tommy's ribs. "You really were an ass." But he says it like he'd say _you really do love puppies..._

Again, Tommy's eyes fall closed, and his back arches inward, lips skimming - _finally_ \- against Adam's. "I _liked_ it, don't you get it? You just scared me 'cause you woke me up. That's not what I'm talking about, though. I'm talking if... if I did this." Adam's shirt feels soft and worn under Tommy's palms when he slides them up to the sides of Adam's neck, and now, even now, instead of a skim, a tease, Tommy _kisses_ Adam, feeling scary, exciting heat spread under his skin.

There's a sound lost in there, a low almost-growl. The hand that's not under Tommy's shirt drops the ice cream and Adam gets Tommy by the back of the head and kisses him. No tentativeness now, no freak out and no fear. He gets the angle just right and he _kisses_, tongue licking into Tommy's mouth (God, he loves mint) and his eyes slip shut. If Tommy managed to find something of that old Adam for him to like? Well, more power to him, honestly.

Let's just put this out there, okay? Holy _shit._ One of Tommy's hands slides into Adam's hair, mouth open and soft against Adam's, and he tastes like ice cream, and beneath that, pot, just a little bit. When he shifts his hips, it's almost a surprise to realize that he's hard, or at least getting there at a very, very fast rate, and it's Tommy's turn to make a sound, just as soft as his mouth, a low groan that's muted by Adam's lips.

"Oh, shit," Adam laughs softly, words brushed against Tommy's mouth. "I ... am making out with my bass player. That doesn't make a whole lot of business sense." But he rests his forehead against Tommy's and looks at him right up close. "Tommy Ratliff. I can honestly say this is a situation that I never, ever thought would happen. Ever."

"Me either." Tommy lets out a breathy little laugh, his eyes still closed. "Is it okay? That we're doing this? Fuck business sense... you gotta do what you want. How do you think you got here, anyway?" The dart of his tongue to wet his lips touches Adam's mouth, too, and Tommy has to physically stop himself from kissing Adam again. "By doing what made sense, or listening to your guts?"

"Guts." Adam laughs; it isn't a word he associates with himself. "I don't know," he whispers and the curve on the edge of his smile tells Tommy he's not entirely serious. "You still might try to break my heart."

"Because I was trying so hard to do that before?" Tommy can't resist, they're so _close_, and it feels so good to have Adam's mouth on his that Tommy has to touch it, taste it, shifting just a little bit closer on Adam's lap. "Tell me what it's like. Now that you know." What it's like to be with another guy, how it feels, how it's different. Tommy's mouth curls up in a smile. "Satisfy my curiosity."

"You haven't been with a guy?" Wow. Adam laughs, just a little, not _at_ Tommy, but at the idea that somehow Tommy didn't do that. "How have you not been with a guy? If you say you were saving yourself for me, I will laugh right in your face."

No, Tommy laughs instead, leaning back so that his hands spread on Adam's shoulders again. "You're such an _asshole._ Kissing's one thing, man. But I've never done anything from the waist down, you know? When you're kissing a guy and he goes for your chest, you know it's not exactly the best idea to keep going." He's still hitching little snickers as he looks at Adam again, and Tommy pats one of Adam's cheeks. "Don't stroke your ego that much to think I was saving myself." This kiss is friendlier, teasing, with only the slightest undercurrent of heat.

"I should hope not. That wouldn't be me being egotistical, that would be you being crazy." But Adam's smile is pressed to Tommy's and he gives in, for now, opening his mouth into the kiss and tasting the way Tommy's mouth fits to his.

This goes on for who knows how many minutes before Adam forces himself to pull away again. "Okay. We need to stop or I'm gonna drag you upstairs and show you exactly what it's like and how _amazing_ it is."

"You say that like I'm gonna say no." But Tommy slithers off of Adam's lap and back onto the couch in a boneless heap, watching Adam through eyes that are little more than dark slits. "I keep thinking it'd be amazing, but then I keep chickening out, 'cause it doesn't feel right, you know? With, whoever." His toes poke Adam's thigh, and now that Tommy's lying on his back, all it takes is little more than a casual glance to see the hard line of Tommy's cock through his jeans. "I'm not scared, you know." _You were my first kiss._

"I didn't say anything about being scared." Adam caught Tommy's foot, tickling it and watching for a reaction. "I said it would set a bad precedent if I fucked a band member. Then I'd have to do the others, to be equal, you know? And what if I hire a girl?" Playfully, he shudders. "You see my situation."

"I was talking about being a chicken with _you_, by the way." They should smoke another bowl. That way there might not be this tense _want_ that Tommy feels.

Then Adam tickles him, and Tommy all but flails right off the couch and onto the floor, laughing like a hyena. "Don't _do_ that! Christ! And what, am I only a band member to you? _Thanks,_ Lambert, jeez." But at least Tommy's still grinning. "You don't have to poke anyone if you don't want to. It just kinda... felt like... you wanted to."

"And what, you didn't?" Adam's eyes are hot on Tommy's face, down his body. He can easily crawl over Tommy's body and pin him to the floor though, saying, "you are more than a band member, Tommy Joe. A boy never forgets his first kiss. Are you okay to drive? Or should you camp out here?"

"Well, it's kinda hard to get up when I'm still stoned, and there's someone _lying_ on me." Tommy moves, meaning to emphasize Adam's taller, heavier frame, but it feels like only his hips move. Er, oops. "I _do_ want to, I'm not even kidding." That's the nice thing about being stoned instead of being hammered - it doesn't impair judgement, only reaction time - and Tommy's words are honest. "I never forgot my first kiss either. You tasted like raspberry popsicle." He's looking at Adam's mouth again, isn't he. Yeah, he is. "I don't like driving high. I get paranoid."

"Then you'll stay here." Leaning back, Adam gets to his knees, then his feet and he holds out a hand for Tommy to stand up as well. When they're both standing, he cups Tommy's face and kisses him again, just once more, for saying he wants to too, then Tommy's put into Adam's guest bedroom and guest bed, because Adam does have _some_ restraint, thank you very much.

~~

Except when he's on national television, it seems.

Backstage, even if everyone's laughing, buzzing about what he did, Adam takes Tommy aside in the dressing room and searches his face. "... you're okay with that? Really?"

There's that grin again, the one that's so easy when there aren't cameras pointed at them. "Do I _look_ okay with it? I _told_ you could touch me and stuff if you wanted to, and I meant it. I mean... I wasn't expecting you to like, suck on my face on national TV, but... it's totally fine." He gets up on his toes and kisses Adam, just to prove his point, and smiles again. "I'm kinda flattered that you picked me. Even if they made me play _keyboard_ instead of bass, jeez."

"Shut up, already," Adam laughs, tugging Tommy in for a kind of dancing hug, because he's swaying and high on adrenaline and exposure with a touch of _oh my God, what have I done_.

~~

It's not until they're in New York and it's one AM and they have to be up at some absurd hour for the Early Show that Adam, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling of his hotel room, texts Tommy. _R U asleep?_ because he can't sleep. Shit is exploding everywhere and let's be honest; he's _freaking out_.

_if im txting u, i guess no?_ Tommy grins at his phone before rolling onto his side and punching in Adam's room number. "'sup, babyboy? Can't sleep? Wanna come over for a beer? I've got some snack-shit here too, if you wanna stay up and watch a movie or something..." He's got the covers bunched around his waist, shirtless, wearing a pair of baggy old track pants to sleep in. Except he's not sleeping, he's watching 1000 Ways To Die on Spike, and it's _hilarious._

"I still don't like beer. One of these days, you'll remember that," Adam tells him, but he's smiling, feeling the pressure around his chest ease a little bit. "You come here; I have a _suite_. And a mini-bar and a fruit basket that's bigger than you are. Okay?"

"Of course, you big fuckin' star. Of course you've got a suite. Gimme a sec and I'll be right there, okay?" Tommy hangs up, flicks the TV off and grabs his keycard, sticking it in his pocket. Bare-chested and barefoot, he pads to Adam's _suite_ and taps on the door. Mini bar and fruit basket. Beats the hell out of his canned beer and potato chips that he's got in _his_ room, that's for sure!

When he opens the door, Adam's got no make-up on and he's in an old t-shirt and sleep pants and his hair is a mess from running his hand through it repeatedly and trying to sleep. "Is that any way to talk to a big fucking star?" He asks with a smile, standing out of the way so Tommy can come in. "Where's the respect?"

"I got your respect right here." Tommy even makes a lewd gesture before coming into the suite, and _damn._ The suite is _sweet._ "How is it that you get a bed the size of a swimming pool and I get one that's like, the size of my coffee table?" Okay, Tommy's bed is actually a queen-sized, but Adam's is luxury compared to that, and of course, Tommy dive-bombs it to see how comfortable it is. "What're you watching? Anything? You should put on Spike, it's awesome."

"I'm trying to sleep because we have to get up in, like, four hours, but I can't." Having shut the door, Adam comes over to the bed, crawling into it too, to lie on his side and look over at Tommy. "All they're going to do is ask me if I think what I did was wrong. I don't, but they're going to say it was."

"What, kissing me?" One of Tommy's eyebrows goes up, and he rolls his eyes. "Honestly. If it was a big deal, I wouldn't have _let_ you kiss me. Like... it was totally fine, and it's this stupid double-standard. Whatever." He waves a hand, shaking his head. "Like, what're they going to do if they find out that you spent the night with your bassist before going on the Early Show, huh? Even if we're just lying here..." But for some reason, Tommy's face heats, and he looks away from Adam.

"What's this?" Reaching over, Adam tips Tommy's chin so that they're looking at each other again. "Tommy?" He doesn't have regrets and does believe there's a double standard, but he's just feeling tentative enough that he doesn't assume, instead, tipping his head to catch Tommy's eye. "Nothing's changed, you know. I want you. I'm just not sure it's a great idea, mixing business and, um, pleasure."

"I don't know how many bands you've been in," Tommy starts, meeting Adam's eyes, that same startling blue rimmed in dark lashes, and chewing on his lower lip, he rests his palm on Adam's hip. "But it's not about business and pleasure. You do things 'cause you _want_ to. Your band members aren't business, they're _friends._ Or whatever. Whatever we are." Whatever this is going to become. "I mean, if it's that much a big deal, we... we can be quiet with it." Wait, no, _what?_ What exactly is Tommy asking for?

What exactly _is_ Tommy asking for? Adam watches his thumb trace circles on Tommy's cheek. "And if we do this, and it goes wrong ... it messes with my band. With my friends." Adam _hates_ how tentative he sounds. Like he did in high school.

Fuck that shit.

Adam leans in, lips to Tommy's, mouth opening so he can lick inside.

With a sigh, Tommy pulls Adam down on him, and he can taste Adam's mouth, and even though it's late, it tastes _good_, and there's that little sound again. "If it doesn't work, then we stay friends. Deal?" He kisses the corner of Adam's mouth, the side of his jaw, the soft spot below where he can feel Adam's pulse. And then he laughs, little and huffed. "You remind me why I was curious in the first place."

"I don't know if we were ever friends before," Adam tells him, a hand carding through Tommy's hair as he leans over him. "But I want that. I ... I want all of that. I'm greedy." Leaning in, he kisses him again. The romantic in the back of his head tells him that this can be the first person, and the last person he kisses. He eyerolls himself, hooking a leg between Tommy's.

"It's okay," Tommy starts, but then Adam's mouth is on his, his leg between both of Tommy's, and he can't stop himself from rocking up against Adam's hip. His hands move down Adam's back, feeling him in ways that he never did before, not when they'd been making out on his couch or even that first popsicle-flavoured kiss, and then pull up, dragging Adam's shirt with them. Then he's arching up again, hands abandoning Adam's skin barely long enough to push down his own pajama pants and kick them into the end of the bed, leaving Tommy bare beneath Adam. "Is this okay?" he whispers, each word a kiss of its own with a whisper of breath behind it.

"Yeah," Adam answers, just as softly, leaning up on an elbow to _look_ and take in the lines and angles of Tommy's body, how lean it is, how _tiny_. He can run his hand down, over Tommy's chest to his stomach, only stopping when he feels the coarseness of Tommy's pubic hair. That's when his eyes wander back up to Tommy's face. "Okay?"

Tommy's eyes are closed now, but there's the bob of his adam's apple when he swallows, and he nods. "Keep going." The sensation of Adam's fingers, not quite ticklish, makes Tommy's cock twitch, hard up against his hip, barely an inch away from Adam's touch, if he wants. _Tommy_ wants, that's for sure, that much he knows, that much he's absolutely clear about. "What can I do?"

"Just ... let me touch you. You're so pretty," Adam tells him and he watches his hand move lower, covering Tommy's cock and squeezing. "God." Leaning in, he can kiss along Tommy's jaw, lower, down his neck to his collarbone. "I'm gonna make you feel so _good_." It's a promise as he strokes Tommy's cock, teeth grazing along the curve of Tommy's ear.

Adam already _is_ making Tommy feel good, and he tips his head back against the pillow as Adam kisses down his skin. "I knew," he murmurs. "I always knew that you'd know what to do." It seems like the right thing to say, _feels_ like it, even though they'd been rocky friends at best in high school, and sort of thrown together again as adults. But even in the spring before grad, Tommy had asked Adam what it'd been like, but then, he hadn't known. Now he does. "I just... I knew there was something about you."

"Something, huh?" Adam's smile curls itself against Tommy's throat before he starts to kiss lower, along Tommy's chest. "What could that have possibly been?" His hand still moves slowly, almost lazily along the length of Tommy's cock. "Have I mentioned how much hotter you are now, than you were then? Shit." That's when his tongue flicks over one of Tommy's nipples.

"Don't know," Tommy answers, and his breathing goes tight as his nipples harden under Adam's tongue. His hands touch against Adam's hair, tentative at first, then diving in to bury his fingers in darkness. "Thanks? Thanks. I guess." There's a breathy laugh as his hips push up into Adam's hand. "You are too. With the dyejob and- _mm._ And everything." Slow is working for him, sweet and sticky, and this is the best way to pass time if neither of them can sleep.

When Adam finally takes Tommy's cock into his mouth, he flickers his gaze up to see Tommy's face when he flicks his tongue along the underside of the head. Then he just lowers down, taking in nearly all of it, a satisfied purr adding to the sensations.

"Oh _god,_" Tommy groans, mouth turned down in concentration, as he _feels_ what Adam's doing to him. He shivers, fingers tensing against Adam's scalp, and man, he just doesn't _get_ how some people can think blowjobs are gross when they feel like _this?!_ He feels the head of his cock butt against the back of Adam's mouth, and Tommy hiccups a sound that tells Adam how much he likes it, how much he _wants_ it. Just like he wants Adam himself.

When he feels Tommy's muscles tighten, though, Adam lifts off, mouthing down the underside over his balls, then lower, spreading Tommy's legs so he can tease, with the tip of his tongue for a second before rubbing a fingertip at his hole. "I have lube, but it's in the bathroom. Do you want me to get it? Or we can do something else, instead."

"_Get it_," Tommy hisses, and wow, that totally makes him look easy, doesn't it? He peels his eyes open to look down his body at what Adam's doing, what Adam's _touching_, even if he can't actually see Adam's fingers. What the fuck, he used his _tongue?!_ And that's what made Tommy make his snap-decision about lube, about being _fucked_ by Adam. Except... part of him thinks that this isn't just fucking. And it's not going to _feel_ like just fucking.

When he gets up to get the tube, it gives Adam a chance to get his own clothes off and he's naked when he crawls back onto the bed, sitting back on his heels as he smears some on his fingers. When he starts touching Tommy again, he cocks his head to the side, watching him with warm eyes. "Have you ever finger-fucked yourself, before?"

Okay, Adam naked? Holy _shit._ He's got freckles everywhere, and the dusting of hair on his chest is the same colour that his hair had been in high school, and Tommy can't stop himself from touching, running his fingers down the center of Adam's chest. When he feels the slick warmth of Adam's fingers, Tommy's muscles jerk, and he tightens up against Adam's touch, as if not quite sure that this is what he wants. It's what he wants in his _head_, and his dick is sure with the program, but his nervous system reacts sharply. Just for a moment. "Kinda. Sort of. Just.... touching. Never... you know. _In._" Thinking about it makes Tommy relax back on the bed, and his feet shuffle apart to let Adam have what they both want.

Pausing to put more lube on his other hand, Adam nods, and as he pushes his finger in, he fists along Tommy's cock at the same time. "We'll go slow." He can bend forward and kiss Tommy's knee actually, smiling just a little bit, just watching. It's that time in the middle of the night when anything feels possible and everything feels like a secret.

All Tommy can do is breathe, torn between the slick ache of Adam's fingers and the slippery heat of his fist, but when Adam kisses his knee, Tommy quirks a smile, distracted and sweet, and his hand feathers down Adam's arm to feel where he's pushing into his body. "You just... you know what to do. You'll know. I just..." He sighs, neck arched. "...I just _want._" He's gone from silly and goofy and watching people die in the ultimate case of Darwinism to soft and hard at the same time, in Adam's bed.

So Adam works slowly, taking his time, pausing when needed, waiting until Tommy's breathing slows, moves a little faster when Tommy sounds like he's begging and it doesn't even matter how long it takes, but he can then lean in and whisper words over Tommy's mouth. "I think you're ready."

Tommy nods loosely, hands running up and down Adam's back, feeling the heat of his skin and the xylophone of his ribs, and his knees hug up against Adam's hips. "I- mm. I'm _so_ ready." Even though he's only got a vague idea of what it's going to feel like, and Adam's cock is a _lot_ bigger than his fingers. Nipping kisses from Adam's mouth, Tommy's own hand moves down between them to touch Adam, to palm against the head of his cock. "Please tell me you grabbed rubbers when you got lube..."

"Yeah." Tommy gets one more kiss before Adam reaches over and gets that taken care of. "I kind of can't believe we're doing this. But ... at the same time I can. You know?" The question is breathy, gasped. He kisses Tommy one more time, then he just works to push himself in in short thrusts, lower lip bitten between his teeth in response to the pleasure, now and anticipated.

Does Adam actually expect Tommy to answer? When he's being stretched out in little pushes, caught in some shadowy place between pleasure and pain. His fingertips dig into Adam's skin now instead of petting, and Tommy's body arches up under Adam's, heels dug into the mattress beneath them. Finally, between gasps of breath, he husks, "Yeah. Just. _Jeez._" It feels so fucking _tight_, like he can barely give around Adam, that Adam's just... too big. "Oh god, help," he whispers faintly, lifting his hips up. "Adam."

"Shh, baby, shhh. Breathe." Adam lets his teeth skim over Tommy's full lower lip not having enough hands to do everything he could to make it better. He cants his hips, though, giving him a little bit of friction as he rocks. "You feel so _good_." A little deeper and a little deeper each time.

"Good." It might be an echo of what Adam says, but it's also Tommy being _glad_ that Adam thinks he feels good. Again, he arches up, as tight as a bow, pushing his cock against Adam's stomach. There's that faint whisper again, _yes_, and a leg hooks around the back of Adam's thigh, lips parting against that brush of Adam's teeth. It's like _fire_, both amazing and burning at the same time, and if he's kissing Adam, it distracts him just enough that his body gives, easy and easier until Adam's hips are pressed flush to Tommy's.

"Fuck," Adam whispers, folding up a little more to kiss and kiss, hand moving to wrap around Tommy's cock and stroke as he pushes in even further. "Oh. Fuck." With that, he starts to move, long, hip-rolling thrusts that push him nearly all the way out, then back in, his hand matching the rhythm of his cock.

_There_ it is, there's what Tommy hoped it would be; when Adam rocks his hips, Tommy groans, but when he strokes Tommy's cock, the sound sharpens to a cry, and after that, a gasped laugh. "I knew it. I _knew._" He pushes up on one elbow to kiss Adam, presses of lips that are messy and jittered, starting flush with Adam's mouth and careening to his jaw and down his neck. They have to be up in how many hours to do the Early Show? And Tommy knows he'll be performing a lot of it standing still, maybe with his feet apart, because already his muscles feel loose and overused. "Fuck, you're beautiful."

"So are _you_." Adam can feel the flush of heat color his skin. His thrusts get longer, still, even, faster, his breathing speeding up as well. "Oh, fuck, Tommy. Oh... fuck. _Tommy_." His head falls and he rests his forehead against Tommy's temple and loses himself to it.

It's not long before Tommy's holding Adam tight enough to leave eight tiny, circular bruises on his back, and he's whispering hot, laudatory words to Adam. And then suddenly that changes; his body tightens up, and the whisper goes surprised and tight. "Oh Jesus, oh fuck, I think I think-" There's no thinking now, because it takes about three more thrusts, three more slick pulls of Adam's hand, and Tommy's coming in jagged pulses of pleasure, his gasp wordless and sudden.

"Oh, _God_, yes." A few snaps of his hips later and Adam's coming too, cries catching in his throat as he braces himself on his elbows just barely to keep from squishing Tommy, though that doesn't stop him from breathing in his ear, whispering words like "Yes," and "so fucking _pretty_."

Tommy pants against Adam's skin before all of his muscles say _ok den. I give up_ and he goes completely boneless under him. "I never..." Okay, time to breathe, too, and Tommy turns his face against Adam's neck. "I never thought it'd be like this. Or that it'd feel like that. Or..." His rough breathing turns smile-shaped. "Or that it'd be with you."

"I know what you mean." Turning his head, Adam kisses that smile with one of his own and he pulls out, falling to his side and tossing the condom into a convenient trash can. It's then that he sees the clock. 3:30. They have a 5:00 call at the studio; Adam groans. "We are so fucked," he adds and then laughs. "Well, you more than me, but you know what I mean."

"You get room service, right?" Holy _shit._ Now that Adam's pulled out, Tommy _hurts_, and he edges out of bed to stumble to the bathroom. "Order espresso if you can!" The door's left open, and Adam can hear running water, and then a sigh of relief. Nothing like a cold washcloth on a sore spot, seriously. "We can sleep after, right? Tell me we're not going anywhere else after. Either that or we're napping for an hour and hauling our sorry selves over there."

"You do not even want to know how much I have to do today. Seriously." Only like eight interviews. _Shit_. Adam sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the phone. Espresso, 5-Hour Energy, egg whites, waffles, fruit, whatever sounds like it can get them through, he orders, and he's setting the phone back down when Tommy comes back in the room. Adam's smile is blurry and sweet. "Hi."

It's still strange, seeing that smile, clear and white and straight, when he'd been used to seeing it crooked and braced. Ten years ago. Tommy's careful when he gets back on the bed, not even bothering with his pants. No point! There's a sheet! He sprawls out on his stomach, arms under the pillow, and Tommy returns Adam's smile. "Hi. That was okay, right? It's not weird?"

Fingers tracing down his spine, Adam shakes his head. "Not weird, no. Kind of ... well, kind of amazing, actually." Gently, he cups Tommy's ass. "Are you okay? I mean ... are _we_ okay?"

"Ass! Hurting!" Tommy reminds Adam, burying his face in the pillow to laugh. "We're fine, I promise. I'm glad you don't think I'm a dick anymore." He turns his head to the side to look at Adam, eyes heavy and dark, a smile just touching the sides of his mouth. "Totally amazing. I never, in a billion years, thought it would be like that." With a sigh, Tommy closes his eyes, waiting for their food to arrive. And, whoops, starts to doze off.

Adam wakes him forty-five minutes later. He's showered and is getting ready to get dressed when he sits on the edge of the bed and brushes his hand over the short bristly hairs at the base of Tommy's skull. There's something rattling around in his chest in the area of his heart, but he's too tired and needs to be too focused on today to think about it. Later. He'll think about it later. "Rise and shine, sleepyhead. We have to leave in about twenty minutes." Most of the food he's ordered is untouched save a few slices of pineapple and half a waffle. The 5-Hour Energy, however? Long gone.

Adam's answered by a muffled curse before Tommy blinks his eyes open. Even with just forty-five minutes of sleep, his hair looks _ridiculous_, and he aches. "Shower. I got time, right? How long's the food been here?" With a groan, he gets himself off the bed, but before he goes into the bathroom, he pauses to run a hand over Adam's damp hair. "I'm totally killing like, all of those waffles when I get out. I'll friggin' take 'em with me to the show if I have to." There's a flickered smile, and Tommy leans down to kiss Adam's mouth. "What should I wear?" The answer for which, of course, Tommy waits for while waiting for the water in the shower to warm up.

"Black, of course. Like me. Remember, they'll do our hair and make up there."

Just as he's about to get dressed, Adam's cell phone rings; it's Lane, who's informing him that Tommy's not in his room. "No, he's here," Adam tells him and even if he's alone, he presses his fingers to his mouth to cover his smile. "We'll be here when it's time." The funniest part of all of this, really, is his mom's assessment, given on the plane ride from LA to New York. "_You know, I always thought there was something about him_..."

"Shit," he says as they're being rushed to the car from the hotel lobby. "I forgot a scarf. I'm going to fucking freeze to death for the interview."

"Baby." Tommy snorts, rolls his eyes, and unwraps his own scarf to tie it around Adam's neck. "There. Even though I have like, zero body fat to keep _me_ warm, now. Jerk." His grin is sunny until the cameras are turned their way, and instead, Tommy faces them with just a little bit of disdain. Privacy, please? Honestly?

In the car, Tommy finds a Sharpie in his pocket, and while they're both sort of leaning against each other for their dire lack of sleep, Tommy pushes up one of Adam's sleeves to put a smiley face on the inside of his arm. See? The more things change, the more they stay the same even as they're completely different.


End file.
